


Fear

by Strength_in_pain



Series: John and his boys [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring John Winchester, Crying Sam Winchester, Gen, Ghouls, Good Parent John Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Winchesters, Mean ghoul - Freeform, Protective John Winchester, Scared Dean Winchester, Scared John Winchester, Scared Sam Winchester, Sleepy Cuddles, Stitches, Teenchesters, Weechesters, crying sammy, except Dean thinks he’s too old but he’s not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 06:17:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16131398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strength_in_pain/pseuds/Strength_in_pain
Summary: Then he see’s it. The ghouls reflection in the glass of the gas station window and it was holding Sammy’s jacket.





	Fear

**Author's Note:**

> So you know how I said i’m going to write a happy story - I am. But this isn’t it.   
> :) 
> 
> But John’s a good Daddy in this one. I think you’ll feel for him a little more. So Yay!!!!

> **Paintsville, Kentucky. April 7th, 1993**
> 
> **Dean 14, Sam’s almost 9**

Being a Corporal in the Marine Corps gave John Winchester a lot of courage. He was a leader, in charge of a small rank of privates, carrying out supervisory responsibilities. He commanded a small group of Marines in combat and operations which is why he had a bit of a ridged persona. Being a leader with a lot of responsibilities had it’s ups, definitely. For one, he was spoken to with a great deal of respect. He made a ton of friends because of the military and he had health care benefits for him and his boys. So yeah, being in the Corps had it’s ups, but it also has it’s downs. 

He’s faced many challenges in the Corps, like marching 40 miles in 54 hours with a limited supply of food. 

Worst of all, John could still remember how his hands trembled when he was combat for the first time. He needed to be aggressive because they were being fired upon. Everyone around him was kicking in doors, setting fires, blowing up fields. It was pure chaos. 

Then, the sound of an explosion, not far from where John was located, had rocked him to his core. It didn't seem to come from any direction, just a sound that encapsulated inside his mind. He didn’t think he was going to make it out alive. His long legs were frozen in place, so he crouched into a crawl and dragged himself towards the edge of a cliff, gasping and choking. John clawed at the rocks with bitten nails. His jaw dropped in a silent scream of horror as the ground lunged at him, a fiery explosion hurling flames his way. After being thrown into the air, he struck the earth, hard, and laid there convulsing and twitching. Thankfully, he didn’t lose consciousness. But the fear he felt was so horrendous, that moment was forever etched in his mind. It’s the same fear that would wake him up years later because the same nightmare always came back. He would wake kicking and screaming, trying to get out of bed, but feel trapped. His pregnant wife, would wake him up and hold him, whispering about how safe he was with her. She said anything to calm him down, including, how he was going to be a fantastic father. After a while, his breathing would go back to normal and he would be able to relax. Stowing away his night terrors, John tried to focus on Mary: his sole comfort. 

But then, Mary died, in the most horrific way. Another terrifying explosion rocked his house. This time, John had watched the woman he loved burst into flames on top of the nursery ceiling. That image took over the military image and suddenly, John Winchester had another fear, far worse than the first. He feared the supernatural. He feared losing the ones he loved instead of his own life. Every morning after his wife was murdered, John would smell her burning flesh. He would see her bloody mangled body shining brightly in his mind. Then his thoughts would accelerate inside his head. He wanted them to slow so he could breathe but they wouldn’t. His breaths came out in gasps and John swore he was going to black-out. The room spins and John can’t pull himself out of bed. He felt so sick. He wants an ambulance, but the phone was too far away. He doesn’t know who to call.  Mary’s gone... the phones too far away...blackness...who does he call... Mary’s gone... He can’t move- the fetal position... Mary’s gone...he needs the phone...but who does he call...Where is he... the room is spinning... Mary’s gone.  

And then suddenly, there’s a hand, stroking his back. There’s a tiny hand rubbing his back. His son, Dean, is there planting kisses on his face. He’s calling John’s name. He’s begging him to get up. And John can breathe for the first time. He can see for the first time those tiny freckles splashing his son’s nose. He can move again because Dean released him from the prison inside his head. But he’s weak. So exhausted. He moves his eyes slowly, as if they are heavy, and looks into Dean’s. Those bright-green watery eyes of a boy who had lost so much. A boy who needs his Dad. But John needs Dean. He needs Dean to tell him everything’s going to be okay. He needs Dean to lay next to him, like Mary use to, and comfort him. But he was the Dad. He had to get up. So he did. He did it for Dean... and Sam. He pushed past his fears and terrors of Mary’s death for his two beautiful boys. 

But today, his boys were missing. They weren’t waiting in the car like John told them too. He was gone for ten minutes tops. He stopped to get gas, then grabbed some coffee. As he was walking back to the car with some candy for the kids, he noticed the car was empty. And just like that, the paralyzing fear washed back into his mind like a tsunami. Tension grew in John’s face and limbs, his mind replaying the last moments with his kids over and over. His breathing became more rapid, more shallow. He screamed for Dean. He didn’t care who was around. His kids were missing! When there was no answer, he called for Sam. His heart was racing faster- no answer. He called for Dean again - no answer. Again -no answer. John’s eyes scanned the other people and the panic grew. In seconds he  was curled tight in the driver’s seat, his only movement were the trembling of his limbs. The most precious people in his life, the only family he had left, his babies we’re missing. Every cold sweat, blood curling fear he ever felt was mild in comparison to the absolute earth-shattering terror he felt right now. 

Then he see’s it. The ghouls reflection in the glass of the gas station window and it was holding Sammy’s jacket. 

John saw red. The fear mixed with boiling rage and John couldn’t think straight. He started his car, and slammed on the gas peddle. He didn’t care that he was headed straight for the glass window, he just wanted to kill that ghoul. 

As soon as he skidded forward, the ghoul flew away, down the street, as if it were leading John somewhere. He didn’t care if it was a trap, he just wanted his kids back. 

The creature stopped in front of a cemetery and waited for John to get out of his car. She didn’t have to wait long, John was out of the impala in record time. Pounding his muddy boots in the wet cemetery grass, John stomped over to her with a raised shot-gun. 

“Where are they!” He screamed, aiming his shot gun at the ghoul’s head. The bitch laughed in his face. Click. John’s shot gun was fully loaded, but as tempted as he was to kill her on the spot, he knew couldn’t kill her yet. 

“Where are they!” He punched her in the face watching as she crumpled to the dirty ground. John bent over intending to pick her up, but something hit him over the back of the head, knocking him out. 

 

Dean and Sam were tied with rope to a metal pipe in some graveyard tomb. Sam was white as a sheet, sweating and shaking against his big brother’s back. Dean, though he couldn’t see Sam, was trying to remain tough for his brother, but he couldn’t control his trembling. Especially when the lady ghoul walked over to them with a knife in her hand. _His knife._ He was thankful Sammy was facing the other way or the kid probably would have burst into tears. 

“Shhhh shhhh.” She ghoul said, nothing Dean’s trembling body, “There, there sweetie, It’s okay.”  the knife ever so gently rubs across Dean’s jaw. “That’s a good boy.” She whispered. Kissing his jaw. 

“Gross.” Dean ducked away. 

“Your Daddy’s awake.” She said, smiling wickedly. Dean’s eyes glanced to the corner of the room where his father’s unconscious  body was dumped and chained. When he saw his Dad blink a few times, he began screaming for him.  

“Dad! Dad!” 

John’s eyes snapped open and he went to get-up, only to have the chains pull him down. “Damnit!” He screamed tugging at the restraints. 

The ghoul smiled, “Come on now, Daddy Dearist. I had to wait until you woke up before killing your boys. I didn’t want you to miss out on me eating your babies alive.” 

“You sick twisted bitch!” John screeched, his voice raw with fear. 

Two other ghouls were now surrounding the boys. John looked around to see a few more come out of the darkness. What the hell was this? A family of ghouls? 

The lady with the knife, leaned forward and spoke loudly into Dean’s ear, “see honey, your daddy just shot our daddy and mommy. They were just minding their business, eating scrap bodies out of their graves like vermin and your Daddy comes out of nowhere and kills them. And for what? Eating dead people? The whole reason we live like rats is so people like your dumb-ass father don’t murder us!” 

 

“Sorry to break it to you,” John barked, “but they were chowing down on innocent women and children. I guess they got tired of eating dead meat and went on to the living.” 

 

“Well can you blame them?” The ghoul screamed. Dean jumped back against Sam, whimpering lowly. Sam wrapped his fingers around Dean’s fist. Both of them were trying to do as they were taught, and rub the rope, but it wasn’t as easy as it looked in training. 

 

 “Dead meat is disgusting. It’s like eating out of the garbage. Why would we do that when we could eat fresh, delicious, tender meat.” She licked her lips against Dean’s neck. 

 

“Well, eating people is considered murder sweet-heart and that’s gonna earn you a death warrant from me. And if you hurt either of my children I promise you I’ll kill your whole damn family.”

 

The ghoul scoffed, then she turned to Sam and looked directly in his eyes, “So sorry little one but we’re going to bleed you out and eat you nice and slow. Then maybe your daddy will learn his lesson about idle threats.” 

 

She turned back to Dean, “Hopefully your brother’s a screamer.” 

 

Dean wasn’t going to let some evil non-human creature get away with threatening his brother. He did what any good brother could do in this situation. He spat directly in her face. He’s seen Dad do it a few times whenever a monster gives him a dig. So he figured he might as well express how displeased he was and it felt amazing. That is, until she took her knife and sliced his cheek. 

 

Dean flinched at the burning pain, and his breathing hitched slightly. It was so unreal being deliberately cut with something. Dean had never experienced such pain before. He had been cut with knives on accident. A really bad cooking experiment left him with stitches in his hand. He had intentionally cut his own hand for a spell that required his blood. That was painful, but not as badly as someone doing to him. The pain was apparently showing on his face because John kicked violently at the ground, yanking at the chains trying to get to him. 

 

The ghoul licked the knife with his blood on it. “Fresh meat is so much better.” She said. Dean blinked for a second then he saw a giant chunk of skin peel from his arm. That was even more horrifying than the pain. 

 

“Ow!” He screamed, kicking his legs out instinctively. 

 

“Leave him alone.” Sam cried vehemently. He could feel his brother’s blood drip down his back. And there was nothing worse than listening to Dean cry out in pain. Then again, maybe there was...Sam felt the knife dig into his skin. Suddenly he’s bleeding too, a lot. 

 

He howled,  his hazel-green eyes watering at the foreign feeling. 

 

“Dad! Please, help.” Sam whimpered trying to look over his shoulder at his father. John was cursing, screaming, kicking, and thrashing, but he was stuck against a freaking metal pipe with freaking chains wrapped tightly around his wrists. 

 

“Don’t touch him.” Dean spat, swiveling his legs at the ghoul, trying to knock her away from Sammy. 

 

The lady ghoul went closer to Sam, ready to carve another slice, but Dean wouldn’t let her. He kicked his legs again and tripped her. Once she was on the ground he struggled to break free, but he couldn’t break the rope either. 

 

“Sammy, try to untangle yourself from me, maybe you can escape.” Dean said, but then the two male ghouls were holding them down. One of them saw Sam untangle his hand from the rope so he slapped Sam across the face. 

 

Dean growled way beyond pissed, and used his skull to bash their chin’s in. He smiled, pleased with his work until he saw the bitchy lady come at him with a knife. Again. He twisted, scooting him and Sam closer to the pipes. When the ghoul went for a stab, she missed her target as Dean tripped her once again. 

 

“You little brat.” She seethed sinking her hands into his soft brown hair. 

 

Dean yelled hands flying to his hair trying to protect it from the assault. She used this distraction to put a knife to his neck. He struggled to spin away, turning his back to her. Unfortunately for Dean, she slid the blade across his back. 

 

Dean felt a white-hot pain shoot down the back of his shoulder blades all the way to his mid-back and he shamefully let out a high-pitched wail. He didn’t want to. He really didn’t. Because Sammy was right next to him and Dean hated when his brother heard his pain. But it was so excruciating, Dean couldn’t help it. 

 

“Dean!” Sam’s voice cracked from screaming so loud, “Are you okay?” a second later Sam is getting another cut on his arm. While The ghoul with the knife was happily slashing at Sam’s skin, he started crying, wet noisy tears. 

 

“Stop it!” Dean screamed. 

 

“Aw is da wittle baby hurt?” She cooed looking at Sam’s miserable state. “I guess we’ll have to put him out of his misery.” She leaned down and opened her mouth, ready to snack on Sammy’s skin. 

 

As soon as he thought he was going to die, Sam heard a gun shot. He twisted around, and saw his Dad freed from the chains, shooting at the ghoul farthest to the right with a pistol he kept in his pant leg. 

 

“Get away from my sons or I swear to God I’ll shoot another one of your family members.”  John screamed, holding the gun at the ghoul’s head. 

 

She goes in for the bite. John rushed behind her and pulls her away, punching her. He tried to get her far enough away from his boys so he could shoot her and not worry about hitting them. Once she was far enough away he shot but missed. Meanwhile the other ghoul was on top of Dean. 

 

“Dad!” Dean screamed as the ghoul was raising the fallen knife above him. John watched in horror as he brought it down, inches from stabbing Dean in the neck. John had to take the risk. He had to shoot and pray to God it didn’t hit Dean. He had to save his kid.

 “Stay still Dean!” John screamed before firing. Dean looked petrified as the ghoul’s head falls on top of him, blood splattering on him. Quickly, John took another shot at the lady who was making a run for it and this time he got her. He looked around and fired.

 

One. Two. Three. They all dropped dead, with their heads shot clean off. Never say John Winchester isn’t scary with a gun. When he realized it was all over; all the ghouls were dead John could breathe again. He looked over his shoulder at Dean trembling against Sam, holding him close, while Sam cried. 

 

John rushed over and scooped Dean and Sam up, cuddling them against his heart. 

 

“Oh my God.” He cried, kissing each kid’s head. “Are you two okay?” It was more affection than he’s even shown, but considering they almost died, he lost all sense of tough-guy masculinity. 

 

He was already scanning them for injuries. When he spotted the bloody arms, he ripped his shirt sleeves and wrapped them around the injuries. 

 

“Keep pressure on that.” John ordered. Then he took the remainder of his shirt off and wrapped it around Dean’s torso, trying to stop his back from bleeding. 

 

Sam was still crying. He had been ever since he was cut on his arm. Once John was certain Dean’s back wasn’t bleeding so badly, he turned his attention to his youngest. 

 

“Sammy, tiger, what’s wrong? How can Daddy help?” 

 

It was weird, John will admit. His boys both had stopped calling him Daddy years ago, and he hadn’t referred to himself as ‘Daddy’ since Dean was probably seven. But damn if he wasn’t terrified. The thought of potentially losing either of his children tonight made him regress. He thought back to when they were toddlers, so small John could just carry them both on his hips. His kids might not be toddlers anymore, but they were still so young. Too young for this life. They still had so much life left to live. Dean hasn’t even had his first kiss yet. Sam didn’t know how to drive. What if he couldn’t rip his wrists away from the chains? What if the ghoul had eaten his kids alive. Oh God...

 

“Dad?” Dean’s voice was so familiar. It’s always there to snap John from his thoughts.  “You’re wrists are bleeding, really bad.” 

 

Were they? John didn’t notice before but Dean was right, his wrists were bloodied and bruised from when he yanked away from the tightly bound chains. 

 

“Sammy said he’s scared.” Dean whispered. 

 

“Oh.” John looked down at his crying child, “it’s okay to be scared, Sammy.” He whispered rubbing a comforting hand up Sam’s back. “I was scared too.” John admitted. 

 

“You were?” Sam asked in a shaky voice. 

 

“Of course I was. My two boys weren’t in the impala where I left them. I almost had a heart attack.” 

 

“We’re sorry, Dad.” Dean said quickly, “but we were good. Honest. We stayed in the car like you told us to. But the ghoul snatched us before we even had time to fight.” 

 

John pulled Dean’s head closer to his chest. “It’s okay, Deano. I get it. I’m not mad. I was just scared.” 

 

Sam sniffled, his tears finally slowing down. “Don’t leave us alone in the car anymore, Dad. Please.” Sam pleaded. It brought on a whole new wave of silent tears. And John wanted this whole ugly situation to be a nightmare. 

 

Sighing heavily, John nuzzled his beard against Sam’s neck. “Okay, Sammy.” He picked them up, with a little difficulty, and carried them to the impala. 

 

“I’m gonna stop at a drug store and get you two something to ebb off the pain.” 

 

“I want to go with you!” Sam exclaimed as his father parked the car in the empty parking lot. 

 

“Okay.” He smiled softly. Opening the back door he carefully helped Sam out. 

 

“Dad. My arm hurts not my legs. I can walk just fine.” Sam muttered. Good. At least he was regaining some of his sass. 

 

He held his hands up in defense making Sam giggle, then he turned to see his oldest son hobbling out of the car. His back was still badly cut and John worried about him walking in the store like that. 

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait here?” John asked, giving Dean his best pleading eyes. “I promise I won’t be long.”

 

But Dean shook his head, insistent upon staying close to his family. 

 

“Kid, it looks like I beat you. I don’t want anyone asking questions.” 

 

“It was one hell of a football game,” Dean cracked a smile, even if it was pained, it still had it’s charming effects. 

 

“See Dad, no one will think Dean was abused if he still has that smart ass attitude.” 

 

Dean went to ruffle Sam’s already messed-up mop of hair. They were giving each other tiny shoulder bumps as they walked into to pharmacy with John following them closely behind. He wasn’t in any mood to leave them alone again either.

 

He paid for a big bottle of Motrin and a lot of Neosporin first aid antibiotic pain relieving cream. As he suspected the cashier was giving him a really strange look. One that said, what the hell happened to you and those kids? _You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,_ John thought. He threw in some bandages here and there and that was it. 

 

Their quiet motel room felt like such a relief. Sammy had insisted on going with his father to pay for the room. Literally the boy wasn’t leaving John’s side. And John wondered briefly how long this would last. Thankfully, Dean actually opted to stay in the car. At least he wasn’t permanently traumatized. When asked, he said he wanted to relax and listen to his cassette tapes but John knew his back was most-likely hurting pretty badly. He hated himself for what he was going to have to do, but the kid was going to need stitches. 

 

Once inside the quiet motel room, John dropped the items on the living room table then shuffled through his duffle bag. When he found a first aid kit, he pulled out a needle then went to the bathroom to sterilize it. 

 

“Aw Dad, nooohh.” Dean complained. “This is dumb. You don’t need to stitch it, I’m fine.” 

 

“Come ‘ere.” John pointed to the spot directly in front of him. It took a few minutes for Dean to drag his body over, a petulant  frown on his face. 

 

“I know.” John whispered as he dabbed his son’s bloody back with a towel dabbed in alcohol. “Shh. I know.” He gave Dean a clean towel and told him to bite. This next part wouldn’t be easy. He hated stitching either of his son’s. The thought of shoving a needle through their bloody mess of muscles made John nauseous. And Dean hated needles worse than John. 

 

The skin is thick, much thicker than people realize, and he has to push much harder than he’d like, because it’s like sewing leather. 

 

The next problem is holding the needle. He was taught in the Military to use forceps and a holder instead of his hand because he could cut his hand. Also, it is more sterile to use the tools, but John didn’t have any tools with him. So he chose to use his hand. As for the thread, John had Nylons. It was difficult to handle and hard to knot, but he loved to use them for skin wounds because they slip out easily and are less painful to remove. 

 

“Might wanna hold something, son.” John said, lining the needle against his back. 

 

“Dad,” Dean panted heavily, “I’m gonna puke.” 

 

John stroked his shoulder blades, “shhh. Puke in the sink if you have to.” He said resting the needle back on his back. 

 

“Sammy. Go get your brother a pillow.” 

 

Sam didn’t question his father for once. Instead, he handed Dean a pillow while waiting in the doorway Incase his father needed him for anything else. 

 

Squeezing the pillow tightly, Dean screamed around the towel in his mouth as John inserted the needle through his skin. 

 

“Hang in there.” John said, as he weaved the thread as if he were sewing a pair of blue jeans. When the cut on his son’s back was closed, John put the torture instrument down and gathered his boy by pulling his head to his chest. They all had a really exhausting evening. 

 

Dean’s head was covered by the pillow and now it was smooshed against his father’s strong abs. He pulled back, shoving the pillow into John’s hands then shuffled to bed. Apparently big tough fourteen-year-olds don’t need hugs from their Dad anymore. 

 

“Sam.” John called, curling a finger at him. He watched Sam walk over to him and take the pillow out of his hand. He turned to leave, but John grabbed his arm. 

 

“Ow.” Sam hissed, his cut rubbing against John’s hand. 

 

“We need to bandage this properly, don’t you think?”

 

“Yes sir.” Sam mumbled. He dug his face into the same pillow Dean was holding while his father dabbed the alcohol over his skin. 

 

“Dad.” Sam heard his dad grunt. “It hurts getting cut. It hurts really really bad.”

 

John nodded, “I know.” 

 

“Like worse than stubbing your toe. Or getting burned with your lighter, or getting a paper cut. In fact, it’s like getting a paper cut but ten times worse.” 

 

“So,” John cleared his throat. “What happened in the car?” 

 

Sam winced. John wasn’t sure if it was because of the question or because he was bandaging his arm. 

 

“Dean wasn’t lying. We stayed in the car like you said.” 

 

“Did one of you unlock the door?” John asked softly. He wasn’t trying to grill Sam, not after the horrifying experience they all had, not even an hour ago, but John wanted to know. No, he needed to know so he could make sure it never happened again. 

 

“Not exactly.” Sam dug his big toe in the carpet. “We sorta opened the door.”

 

“You what!” John bit his lip, trying to contain his anger. “Oh Sammy why on earth would you do something like that.” 

 

“There was a little girl crying, the ghoul had her by the neck and Dean just opened the door and screamed at them.  They let her go, but the other two ghouls were in the car as soon as Dean opened the door. Then we were being pulled out and taken to the cemetery. We tried to fight, Dad. But there were more of them and they were stronger. We didn’t have any weapons ready. Dean had grabbed his knife early on and they knocked it out of his hand.” 

 

“Actually they used my own knife to slice and dice me.” Dean shouted from the bed. 

 

“That’s some knife you got there, deano.” John replied with a chuckle. Even though it wasn't funny. He went back to talking to Sam. “And I’m glad you tried to help that little girl, But please think next time. It was obviously a trap. They were trying to bait you and you fell for it.”

 

Sam went to open his mouth but John spoke over him, “I know it was mostly your brother’s fault.” 

 

“Hey.” 

 

“But you gotta watch him, ya know. Keep him from doing stupid stuff.” John was playing now, ruffling Sam’s hair, tickling his side, but the underlying message was clear: Be more careful. 

 

“No Dad stop!” Sam screamed with glee as his father lifted him over his shoulder and swung him around a few times before disposing him on Dean’s bed. 

 

“Scoot. We’re all sleeping in here tonight.” John said, waving Dean over. 

 

He slipped in the side, and positioned himself in the middle of his two boys. He listened to them chat for a while, felt their warm bodies snuggling against his own. They were alive. Thank God. He smiled when Dean rested his head against John’s chest like it was a pillow. Sam did the same on his other side. He sighed contently, leaning back against the pillows. A cool breeze from the A.C. sent shivers down his spine. Goosebumps rose on his arms and he pulled the blankets around himself, but he made sure to cover Dean and Sam first. 

 

John didn’t mind sharing the blankets. He would sleep in the cold if his kids needed him too. 

 

When Mary was pregnant she stole all the covers from him. It was how she preferred to sleep, snug under blankets with the temperature low. John didn’t mind. 

 

When he was in the Corps he went a few nights without pillows. But he didn’t mind that either. He took pride in never complaining. And he used to take pride in never crying. His sergeant had visited him in the hospital wing after the explosion, clasped him on the back, and told him ‘good job, solider.’ He was considered strong for not crying.

 

And when Mary died, he didn’t cry. He felt dead inside, drank beers by the hour, and could barely get out of bed. But he never cried. 

 

He never cried in the military or after Mary’s death, but he cried tonight, tears of terror muffled into his son’s hair. He wasn’t sure if they heard him. Probably not, they were sound asleep as soon as their heads hit the bed, but even if they did hear him, John didn’t care. He almost lost them today. His greatest fear was seconds for happening. If John wasn’t fast enough... if he shot the gun a little lower...they might not be here right now. And that is just not acceptable. John would rather die a thousand times over than live without his sons.

 

 He needed to train them better. They need to be prepared. From now on, he wouldn’t cut them any slack. They were going to learn how to protect themselves. Even if that means he’s a drill sergeant instead of a father. In the end, it will be worth it because Dean and Sam will be safe.

 

He didn’t sleep that night because he was on duty - keeping watch like a guard dog. It was his job. Because a leader has many responsibilities, but a Dad has more. 


End file.
